Power To The People
by Gilly B
Summary: They made their way to the park nearby and walked under the street lamps and orange trees. That was when America finally had a breakdown. Tears poured forth and he sobbed his woes. It was just like any other Election Day.


Happy Election Day!

:D

* * *

It was just another world meeting, one like any other that came before it and will proceed after. France and England were bickering as they had been for hundreds of years, Northern Italy was running around and speaking with everyone or asking for pasta, Greece was asleep under a mountain of cats, Switzerland was threatening people with his peace prize, and everyone was carrying on like normal. They were tired and true in their habits and ways; fighting, sleeping, talking, gazing out upon all of them and simply sitting back, and even ceasing to exist (as is such the fact of one unlucky Canadian).

Save for one.

America, strangely, was not in attendance to this particular world meeting. Very few knew why, and none knew the _true_ reason why. Everyone else assumed it was the impending election. There was always a monumental shift in America's mood in November every four years. For months leading up to it, he would appear ill to the other nations. Disoriented and cranky. He was not a pleasant person to be around when the indecision and resentment for the other side flooded his people and overtook his senses. This was why he never came to meetings that were scheduled on Election Day, as this one was.

Thus the meeting carried on as it always did, sans one obnoxious blonde. Everyone knew America could not come to the meeting so obviously it was natural for him to not be there. That did not distract from the piercing lack of overly-loud laughter, rude eating habits, and the incoherent babble of aliens and super-heroes and robots and space. It was empty without the charismatic presence of the overbearing American. That was simply how it was, though most chose to ignore it.

Save for one.

Russia was greatly unsettled by the absence of his long time friend and ultimate enemy. He knew this happened, but he never liked it. And it always seemed to spring upon him like a leap year, he goes about his merry way and completely forgets that such a thing happens until it hits him again on the fourth year. But at least a leap year is only something as innocent as an extra day in February, and does not hold the potentially sinister implications that the dreaded Election Day has. For depending on who wins, he will have no idea what type of person America will become. It may take many more years than four to incite serious changes within the American, but they happen much quicker and much more drastically than with any other nation. And it all begins after the result of Election Day.

What type of person will he become next? How will the stereotype change as it has almost every decade? Will they tip-toe around him after this, or stomp on his toes? Will they laugh with him or cry because of him? He has so much power. So much debt. How much will either one dwindle? How much will he gain of either one? The questions tip back and forth and are never answered until they rise again at a later date, the next November.

Save for one.

This time, this election, Russia did not care about the outcome. He cared about America. He knew the other was suffering at this very moment, about to receive a new boss that would dictate how he spent his very existence. Would it be the same man? Would it change at all? His people were clamoring for change, were they not? Russia frowned at such a thought. America's people were ignorant of how lucky they had it in such a place as his. Recession? It was laughable. Had not their ancestors gone through rougher times just decades back? Poor Education? It threw him for a loop. Was not _every_ child required to gain an education in the states? Was that not good enough for them when such a system was nowhere to be found in other places? It almost angered him how greedy America's people could be and how much they took everything for granted. But it wasn't as if the Nation himself didn't scoff at his own issues. America was quite aware of how asinine the squabbling going on in his political system was. He often made jokes about it.

The minutes ticked by and Russia waited as patiently as he could for the meeting to end. His gloved fingers barely making a sound on the polished hard-wood table as they thrumed out a bored rhythm. The fighting escalated, the snoring continued, and the meeting finally came to an end. They accomplished nothing as per usual. No one even felt guilty anymore when they ended yet another day without progressing in anything. It was simply how things went. Russia fled the monotony and escaped to the shiny elevator doors that stood at the end of the hall. Everyone assumed he was fleeing from his clingy sister Belarus, no one assumed that he was actually on a rescue mission. He himself was unaware.

Russia arrived at his destination some time later. It was already dark and the aged house before him was cast in shadows. Early autumn air nipped at his nose and he drew his beloved scarf up to cover his face. Gravel crunched under his heavy boots and wind blew a melody through fallen leaves as he slowly approached the front door of a house he hadn't dared approach for a very long time. But he had an invitation this time. He was expected inside and hopefully welcomed. The lights in the house were off.

Save for one.

Russia made it to the front door and hesitantly knocked on the old wood. The door was promptly opened and he received a tired smile that made his heart ache. The two powerful nations observed each other for a quite moment. America had heavy bags under his eyes and his golden skin was pale and clammy. He looked weak and tired and about ready to collapse. But there was still a soft sparkle behind those lenses that brought the other's baby blue eyes to life. Russia hoped it never left.

America smiled in a softer manner, melting at the sight of his ever faithful friend. Russia, although having previously been his enemy, had always been a person he looked to for comfort. His human side at least. There was no doubt that Alfred F. Jones loved the company of Ivan Braginsky, even when America didn't. He held the door open for the tall Russian, allowing the other in to his home and his heart.

Russia pulled the blonde into a tight embrace as soon as the door closed behind him. He had been very worried for his little American. The smaller man hugged back fiercely, clinging to the other in the hope that if they stayed like this forever he would never have to face his problems. But, as the way of things goes, all good things must come to an end. America gave a quick peck to Russia's cheek in thanks before motioning to the living room and saying that he would go get them something to drink from the kitchen.

Russia was left to his own devices as he wondered into the once familiar living room. He was both shocked and unsurprised by what he found. Wrappers from fast food and empty soda cans lay all about the room and there were several blankets and pillows tangled up on the couch, looking as if the blonde hadn't slept in his own bed for a good week. There were several televisions set up around the room, each giving a soft light that lit up the room and flickered with the movement on the screen. Each television was on a different news channel that was likely talking about the election at any given moment.

Save for one.

There was a small one of to the side that was continuously playing clips from classic Disney movies. Russia decided he wouldn't ask. America came back into the room with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. They shared a smile, both still standing behind the couch at the entrance to the living room as they gave a toast with their cups. They turned to the televisions and Russia was very much worried by the frown that marred America's face as he studied each one. He needed to take America's mind off of the impending announcement to come. That was the entire reason he was here, after all. They needed to leave. Russia forced America away from the sight of the news channels and gently nudged him into the foyer again, right up to the front door.

America tilted his head to the side in confusion as the Russian man began to pull America's coat off the rack and fish out an extra pair of gloves. He complied silently as the other gave him the clothing to put on. Russia declared that a walk in the park would be nice. America laughed. It was far too late, and far too cold for a walk outside to be pleasant, but he pulled on the coat and slipped on the gloves in any case. They both still held their mugs of cocoa.

They made their way to the park nearby and walked under the street lamps and orange trees. They talked and chatted about nothing in particular, both looking up to the stars above. It was a place only they shared, space. There was a crunch of leaves and a whistling in the wind, there was also laughter and quiet whispers. When they eventually tired they sat their cups on the ground and collapsed on a bench. It was dark and cold and all the benches in the park were empty.

Save for one.

That was when America finally had a breakdown. Tears poured forth and he sobbed his woes to Russia. Russia could do nothing but hold the other close and listen. America spoke of his debt, his education problems, his obesity problems, his Gay Rights problems, and every other problem he had under the moon. He apologized for everything and keened over anything he couldn't fix or didn't know how to solve. Russia patted his back and dried his tears, patiently waiting for the blonde to calm down and have let it all out.

America's sobs turned to sniffles and his complaints turned to quiet murmurs of thanks. Russia merely kissed his forehead and ran his fingers through America's hair. There was nothing to thank him for as he was only there to hold the other. America smiled and thanked him again anyway.

Both were preparing to stand and leave when something caught the smaller man's eye. There was a crumpled notebook underneath their bench with a hand-painted picture of a sunflower on the front. He smiled at the remembrance that sunflowers were Russia's favorite. He picked it up out of curiosity and flipped it open. Many of the pages were ripped out and the ones that were left were blank.

Save for one.

On the last page on the notebook was a poem. As he read the poem, Russia doing the same over his shoulder, tears flowed from his eyes once again. These tears, however, were not necessarily sad. The words were mashed together in sloppy, almost cursive handwriting. They came together to create something along the lines of this...

Something dirty

Something clean

Something gritty

Something mean

A punch to the face

And a shot to the heart,

Cushioned all by the people

come 'round for their part

A melting **pot**

Cold and **hot**

There but **not**

And never **caught**

**INDEPENDENT**

Come together

Pull apart

Whatever weather

beats the heart

of

_**AMERICA**_

_All you'll never know_

is WORTHLESS

_We all put on a show_

that's POINTLESS

Break the bonds

And throw the chains.

Out tears are dry,

It never rains.

Something pretty

Something lost

Something shitty

Something soft

A prick on the finger

And a band-aid to heal

We're all in a heaven

With something to feel

Place of **light**

Born to **fight**

From the **night**

Out of **sight**

**FOR FREEDOM**

Hold together

Fall apart

In the weather

Thumps a heart

in

_**AMERICA**_

In decades of war

We fight with our smarts

And through decades more

We'll fight with our hearts

If there's something that's true

about the good 'ole U.S.

It's that we're sticking like glue

Through worst and through best

We are America

We are Everything...

Love

Hate

Freedom

Fate

A Nation

of Stars up Above

And Beggars

Below

Wherever we go

There's one thing we know

America is U.S.

And

We are...

_**United**_

Russia smiled as America laughed at the irony of finding such a poem like this at this particular time. America closed the notebook and held it close as he grabbed Russia's hand and led them off into the night towards his house once again. Russia broke the silence as they walked.

"I find myself glad at the reassurance that you shall still be the same America I know today, no matter the outcome of your silly elections," Russia squeezed the other's hand for comfort. "You have been though so much, dear America. I was afraid that I might lose you." The house finally came into view. "You must feel the same, Da?"

"Yeah," America smirked and opened the door, "but don't you worry big guy. I'm the hero of this story and I ain't going nowhere."

* * *

Song: Hero by Regina Spektor

Hope you liked it~

Gilly B.


End file.
